First Time
by moonlight.soul.FIRE
Summary: She wasn't beautiful, kind or the least bit feminine, but she would teach Kintaro and Zaizen more about girls than they ever would have guessed. Shitenhoji-centric!
1. Another Year

_**Disclaimer**_: I, the author, sadly do not own Prince of Tennis at all ever and I never will. I guess I just own the OC character.

_**Summary**__: She wasn't beautiful, kind or the least bit feminine, but she would teach Kintaro and Zaizen more about girls than they ever would have guessed._

Is this a Shitenhoji x OC fic? We'll see.

…

_**Shitenhoji High School**_

It was another season of homework and tennis practice, and Shiraishi had to admit that he was partially relieved that it was his final year of high school. He glanced around at the boys before him, a small smile overtaking his otherwise temperate face. Now with Tooyama enrolling they had their team all together again:

Kenjiro the forgotten Vice-Captain,

Chitose the humble and observant,

Gin the calm brute,

Kenya the Speed Star of Naniwa,

Zaizen the too-serious genius,

Koharu the tensai of the Baka Duo,

Yuuji the Copycat Prince,

And finally, Kintaro and himself.

Their first day of afternoon 'practice' went by cleanly, and since he was the generous Captain his team knew and loved, they dispersed to do what they pleased. Shiraishi was surprised though, when they decided to stay on the court for a couple rounds of recreational matches.

Yet in the perimeter he could feel something off, like the prickling grazes left on his skin from Fuji's otherworldly glare. He glanced around the court before settling his sights on a semi-tall figure in a battered track sweatshirt and athletic shorts. They locked eyes, and he found he couldn't pull away his stare from its steely gray pull. He patiently watched the figure recede into the forest.

"Kenya-kun, are there any track and field runners interested in joining the tennis team?" The aforementioned speed star lifted his sweating head from his towel towards his captain.

"None that I can remember, why?"

"Just a thought." He turned his taupe tresses back to the courts not before Kintaro's backside plowed straight into his face, knocking them both to the ground. In a leap, Shitenhoji's firecracker was back on his feet, pumping his fists.

"Gin-chan, do that again!"

Zaizen smushed his tense face against his racquet, "I'm not even going to ask how you got over the fence."

"Ahhh, ecstasy!" Shiraishi flicked his hands to the sky and fell back to the concrete, laughing idly with his teammates. Just like old times.

…

He never anticipated that he would see those hard blue eyes again, but it would not be immediate that he would be truly reunited with them.

"Class, this is Kiyomizu Sora. She's a transfer student. I trust you will make her feel welcome?"

And there they were: cloudy and blue, like the looming threat of rain. But was this really the individual that was spying on them the other day? He assumed the figure that watched them was that of a male's, but if these were the same eyes he locked with, then possibly he was wrong. Her gaze did not face them, rather it wafted outside, but Shiraishi stiffened at the empty intensity that radiated from her.

Maybe it would be best if he were to keep his distance from her, maybe those weren't they eyes that seared his skin. It was probably just a track member trying to steal Kenya away from the tennis team. These little thoughts simmered in his mind as he amply prayed that the creepy girl was not to be seated next to him.

"Miss Kiyomizu, you can sit next Shiraishi Kuranosuke over there by the window."

Damn it all to Hell!

…

_**Author's Note:**_

_I know it's the first chapter and it's not much to go on,_

_But I would really appreciate some reviews and your lovely opinions!_

_Thank you!_


	2. Kiyomizu Sora

_**Disclaimer**_: I, the author, sadly do not own Prince of Tennis at all ever and I never will. I guess I just own the OC character.

…

_**Flashback:**_

_Maybe it would be best if he were to keep his distance from her, maybe those weren't they eyes that seared his skin. It was probably just a track member trying to steal Kenya away from the tennis team. These little thoughts simmered in his mind as he amply prayed that she was not to be seated next to him._

"_Miss Kiyomizu, you can sit next Shiraishi Kuranosuke over there by the window."_

_Damn it all to Hell!_

…

"Shiraishi-han, will you show our new student around the school, please?"

"Hai." He gave a respectful bow, hiding the uneasiness that was making its way across his masked smile.

She was incredibly boring, to be blatantly honest. She wasn't some mythical foreigner with bright eyes or a beautiful smile. The only thing of slight interest was her hair: a jagged, asymmetrical cut that flipped almost every which way. It was an ordinary brown tinged with blonde from the summer sun. It was longer on the right, but even the longest strands only reached the bottom of her ear: it reminded him a bit of Kenya when he received a botched haircut. Her skin was a leathery tan, dry and oddly more cold looking than warm. Her eyes were aloof, a gloomy blue color that settled nowhere interesting. She was a bit on the taller side, and she was solidly built. She probably would have looked better in the boy's uniform.

Shiraishi attempted numerous topics to instigate conversation, though it was bespeckled with awkward pauses and preoccupied drones from her end.

"And down there are the tennis courts," he exclaimed against the window glass, pointing to their training fields. When she turned her head he could have sworn a flicker of intrigue passed over her empty irises. He took initiative of her brief attentiveness and prodded, "Do you play tennis, Kiyomizu-chan?" She looked to be taken back by his immediate usage of the honorific '-chan' but answered him plainly.

"No, I do not." Shiriashi leaned with slight disappointment; the girl was frank that was for sure. But then a wave of half-hearted optimism washed over him; maybe Zaizen would fair better with her. Misery did love company after all.

"Would you like to learn how? I could introduce you to the girl's tennis captain." Sora stared lazily at the sky, a cloud stretching over the sun.

"Hai."

…

Shiraishi led Kiyomizu to the girl's tennis courts once the bell rang, but to his puzzlement she refused to change from her school uniform as they made their way out. Surely she did not expect to play tennis in her school uniform?

The girl's tennis captain—a beautiful and plucky girl with tightly ribboned auburn hair—kindly greeted Sora with a bouncy curtsy as they arrived. She returned her bow calmly. The girl's captain handed her an extra racquet and proceeded to explain the basics of tennis. Sora respectfully nodded here and there, earning a joyous hug from the animated captain.

"Nyah, I'm so excited to have a new member! Sora-chan, would you like to get changed and we could try to rally a little bit?"

"No, I'm ready." She promptly unlatched her skirt, flinching after Shiraishi and the girls' captain—and just about every other person present—yelled a solid 'no!' One of her tawny eyebrows raised, a devilish grin plastering across her face. With everyone turning blue in the face, she dropped her skirt to reveal a pair of modest athletic shorts. A heaving sigh was emitted from her audience as they repented for the inappropriate images that briefly overcame them. She made her way to the line and lowered herself into position. A thought sparked across her mind, which provoked her to remove her shoes.

"Kiyomizu-chan, you can't play without any shoes!" Shiraishi placed his hands on his hips at the tennis amateur. She didn't speak, she just slumped back into stance. The girl's tennis captain hesitantly tossed a ball into the air and sent a gentle serve her way. Shiraishi stared deadpan at her as she sprung forwards and sent the ball flying across the court, though noticeably out of bounds. A shiver was sent down his spine as he glanced to her eyes.

They were gleaming metallically. Her distant cloudy blue eyes suddenly solidified into little iron bullets. But as soon as they materialized, they disintegrated into their former smoky self. Sora placed her racquet on the ground and politely excused herself. She stuffed her skirt into her bag and exited through the gate, not too far behind was Shiraishi.

"I thought you didn't know how play tennis, Kiyomizu-chan!"

"I lied," she bluntly declared as her pace quickened. His facial muscles were unsure how to act to her cold attitude against her clear tennis expertise.

"Why? You could've joined the tennis team, they would have loved to have you."

She stopped abruptly and turned, causing Shiraishi to slam straight into her iron shoulder. She chewed on a bit of her cheek then proceeded to walk at a more composed pace.

"I don't need to exploit my capabilities here."

He nearly gasped at her statement. The more time Shiraishi heard Sora's voice the more he could imagine her with obscenely pierced ears and green eyes as sharp as glass. This girl most definitely needed to meet Zaizen: she shared his same reclusive demeanor regarding talent. Despite what many people thought of his pierced tennis friend, he was not conceited, but rather reserved. Perhaps Zaizen could appreciate Sora's similarities with him. He dashed a bit ahead of her and struck a coy pose.

"Then can I at least introduce you to my tennis team? I'm sure they would enjoy meeting you!" The smallest bit of color ran over her cheeks at his implied hierarchy over the boy's tennis team. She hadn't known, though it was blaringly obvious in retrospect. Without any clear declaration of agreement, Shiraishi held out his arms to the sun, sighing,

"Ahhh, ecstasy!" Sora just stood in front of him with a mulled expression before cracking an almost unnoticeable smirk.

"Meet us at the boy's court tomorrow after school!"

…

_**Author's Note:**_

_Welp, now you know what she looks like. I don't like super girly characters; I wanted her a little more masculine, more athletic so to speak. _

_Oooh, stay tuned for next week when she gets the privilege of meeting the team!_


	3. Zaizen's First Impression

_**Disclaimer**_: I, the author, sadly do not own Prince of Tennis at all ever and I never will. I guess I just own the OC character.

…

_**Flashback:**_

"_Then can I at least introduce you to my tennis team? I'm sure they would enjoy meeting you!" The smallest bit of color ran over her cheeks at his implied hierarchy over the boy's tennis team. She hadn't known, though it was blaringly obvious in retrospect. Without any clear declaration of agreement, Shiraishi held out his arms to the sun, sighing, _

"_Ahhh, ecstasy!" Sora just stood in front of him with a mulled expression before cracking an almost unnoticeable smirk. _

"_Meet us at the boy's court tomorrow after school!"_

…

"Ha, Hikaru-kun has a new best friend!" The black haired individual groaned at his teammate's jesting, and focused his unimpressed jeer at the Captain.

"Senpai, you're being illogical. Just because this Kiyomizu and I apparently have a similar demeanor does not mean we will get along." Yuuji snaked his arm around Zaizen's neck and tickled his pierced ear.

"Hikaru-_kun_," Zaizen's eyebrow twitched three times before Yuuji continued, "Meet her, you're in desperate need of a… _lover_." Zaizen smashed his elbow down on the boy, but before he knew it he was pushed off the bench with the weight of the Baka Duo balancing on his back.

"Oi." They looked up to see Sora standing before them with a stiff arm raised in greeting. Zaizen pushed the duo off and returned to his spot on the bench.

"Are you ready, Kiyomizu-chan?"

"Hai." She, again, proceeded to remove her skirt, earning uproar from the male tennis team and horrified looks from the surrounding first years—who by this time were well past red-faced. A string of catcalls were sadly dampened when the skirt reached her ankles and her athletic shorts were bared. They scratched their heads as she made her way on the court, barely affected by her ghastly presentation. Shiraishi stood on the other side with a ball ready, but the moment he tightened his grip he could feel nervousness flooding his body. He didn't know what she was truly capable of, what if she were as dangerous as Kintaro? She had initially lied about her tennis experience, so there was a possibility that she was repressing some sort of prodigal talent. He tried to shake his concern by poking fun at her feet.

"Matte matte, Kiyomizu-chan. Your shoes." She glanced down and kicked them off to the side. The other Shitenhoji members tilted their heads. She was going unshod?

He sent a fairly tough shot her way, and welcomed her sudden slate glare. He was becoming accustomed to the metal in her eyes, he pushed to see more.

She shifted her footing and returned the ball easily, the muscle under her shirt rising against the fabric, her feet scraping along the court. Shiraishi was pleased to see that she had kept it in bounds, and struck up a rally with her. Despite being taller than many of the girls, she was light on her feet, and was unperturbed by her shoeless state.

Zaizen broke the silence of their ponks to dissect the girl's playing style.

"She doesn't press her body into the ground as much."

_Ponk_

"I assume it's from being barefoot,"

_Ponk_

"-it forces her to either make shots close to the net or a lob to the back."

The team kept their eyes on the court but soaked in his words. Zaizen continued,

"Speedwise she's fast, but not like Kenya,"

_Ponk_

"-she has more stamina like Kintaro." They gave him a perplexed look when he compared such a stoic being to the wild and carefree Tooyama.

Zaizen's ramblings broke Sora's concentration, a surge of agitation twitching over her skin; she did not appreciate his observations, the way he so openly critiqued her. Her eyes dulled and she stopped mid-run.

_Ponk_

"Eh, Kiyomizu-chan?" Again she set the racquet on the ground and began to retreat, not before a certain red-haired teenager jumped to pounce on her shoulders.

"Kin-han, don't!" Gin held out his hand, but was too late.

"Goro-chan!" Sora knitted her otherwise expressionless eyebrows together at the boy's horrid mispronunciation of her name. She twisted her heel to face him and expected to be knocked to the ground, but stood nose to nose with him hovering in the air. His face was smashed up against the gate, which somehow closed in the nick of time. Kenya stood holding the gate closed, a humorous expression on his lips.

"It's best not to turn your back on Kin-han." She was stunned not only by the fact that Kintaro was still floating against the wire, but also by Kenya's speed. He was able to rise from his seat and close the gate before she even made it far past the exit—and he didn't even look fazed at all. She stood speechless for a moment before continuing her departure. Kintaro emitted a whine and eventually fell to the earth.

"Ne, Goro-chan! Goro-chan! Play against me!" He pushed past Kenya to tug on the girl's sleeve. Shiraishi expected Sora just to brush him off and take her leave, but was astonished when her shallow grey eyes suddenly grew soft. She replied dryly.

"Hai."

…

Shitenhoji crossed their arms expectantly, the girl versus Tooyama? It was like watching a violent tornado form over a calm ocean surface: her cool blue aura against his lively red. With a playful yell, Kintaro served the ball onto her court.

His serve was subdued; he was holding back, she could tell. She wasn't surprised as it usually happened every time she tried to compete against males, which was the reason she seldom challenged anyone or let anyone challenge her.

Still, she couldn't help herself staring into the boy's brown eyes; they were so dark yet full of life. He intrigued her, though her leathery face barely showed it.

She knew a rambunctious vessel like him had to be harboring something far stronger than what he was showing her.

_Ponk_

"Goro-chan?"

"Play me seriously." Her voice was like a jagged stone that would have drawn blood from the other members of Shitenhoji,

but it didn't even pierce Kintaro.

He laughed while running eagerly around the court to ready his aim.

"Hai, Goro-chan!"

Shiraishi smirked, it was only a matter of time before-

"Mountain Storm!"

Dammit!

Shiraishi did not expect for his immediate return shot to be his most dangerous weapon. His face blanched as he sprinted around to the gate opening. The Baka Duo readied to distract their kohai, but was defeated when his shot was already plummeting towards her.

"Kiyomizu-chan, run!" But she ignored him, her toes dug into the court as airwaves sliced against her body like thousands of blunt knives. She could feel the ball catch her racquet, and brought every muscle fiber to the surface as she struggled to contain her composure. Kintaro gazed deep into her titanium visage, thrilled that she was able to even hold her racquet steady against his Smash. His teammates watched in horror as she brought her arm back at an odd—almost broken—angle. She clawed the ground with her bare feet as the ball tried to tear her arm from its socket. She arched even further, and with a solid grunt she whipped around using every pulsing muscle from her head to her toes to return.

It could only go so far, though.

She staggered backwards and watched as her attempt crashed into the pole and came flying back at her. Before Kenya could even rise she was knocked to the ground. But oddly, not from her failed return,

But Kintaro.

…

_**Author's Note:**_

_There goes Zaizen, king of first impressions._

_Stay tuned for more Shitenhoji antics!_


	4. Sora's First Impression

_**Disclaimer**_: I, the author, sadly do not own Prince of Tennis at all ever and I never will. I guess I just own the OC character.

…

_**Flashback:**_

_She clawed the ground with her bare feet as the ball tried to tear her arm from its socket. She arched even further, and with a solid grunt she whipped around using every pulsing muscle from her head to her toes to return._

_It could only go so far, though._

_She staggered backwards and watched as her attempt crashed into the pole and came flying back at her. Before Kenya could even rise she was knocked to the ground. But oddly, not from her failed return,_

_But Kintaro._

…

"Oi, Goro-chan, that was amazing!"

She stared at him with a deeply embarrassed expression on her face, though he was entirely unaware why.

"Kintaro, get up."

Snapped out of his ignorance, he looked at his position and paled.

He had his hands at the side of her head and his body balancing over hers. He noted Sora's frozen face; it was a little funny how shocked she looked—it was unaccustomed for any other emotion besides boredom to color her skin. Tooyama leaped off and pulled her up into a bouncy spin. He punched the air in front of her, praising her 'coolness' and 'gorilla strength.'

The rest of the members however glanced at each other nervously. She came awfully close to returning his smash, something that could only be executed by Tezuka or Ryoma. What sort of creature was she?

Kenya looked to Chitose and Zaizen with his mouth agape.

"Co-could that have been the Pinnacle of Hard Work?"

"No," said Zaizen coolly. He leaned his head back as he watched Kintaro shake her shoulders, her expression fixated on him. Chitose sat down and crossed his arms.

"I don't think she's capable of reaching any of the gates of Self-Actualization."

"Nani, Chitose-han?"

"Her tennis is not passionate; not like Echizen-han or Kin-han." Zaizen nodded.

"Then this is probably the extent of her abilities."

"That's an interesting first impression: to expose the entirety of one's tennis."

Zaizen traced a straight line along his brow to relax his temple. Sure, she revealed every trick and secret to her tennis style, but she was a locked vault in the personality department. What a troublesome puzzle the girl was turning out to be.

He was going to continue boldly assessing Sora, but was silenced by her brooding glare. She was listening to every word, her ash blue eyes boring into him. She glanced down and handed her racquet to a still-effervescent Kintaro and left the court with her bag over her shoulders and shoes in her grasp.

Shiraishi stopped her retreat and curved his shoulders back. He wasn't about to let this enigma of a girl pass by without a fighting chance.

"Kiyomizu-chan, we would be honored if you would join us for dinner!" The team held a harmonious arch in their brows, they would? Kintaro materialized aimlessly from the side and collided with his senpai, both tumbling to the ground with a smile on his tanned skin.

"Aye, Goro-chan! Hikaru-kun is buying!"

"No I'm not, you little brat!"

She aimed back at the pierced boy, a thick wind gusting between them.

Her tawny hair was ordinary, and her skin was ordinary, and her eyes were ordinary. Everything about her was ordinary. She was boring. Yet as Kintaro clutched onto her wrist to shake her into compliance there was a flicker of… something that dyed her impassive eyes. Whatever foreign emotion she harbored dug into Zaizen's skin, but he refused to be so easily affected by it. He answered her stare evenly.

"Kiyomizu-senpai-" he was cut off when Kintaro pulled her up and began walking towards the nearest noodle shop, his arm interlocked with hers. The members of Shitenhoji glanced at each other, had she even agreed to Shiraishi's dinner invite?

Their youngest player seemed indifferent to whether she answered or not.

…

Zaizen was becoming increasingly aware of his teammates' stupidity: Yuuji was repeatedly trying to remove Koharu's pants, Kintaro was trying to place his noodles on Gin's head as beef flavor hair, Kenya and Shiraishi had entered with elaborate kimonos and wigs. Where the hell did they even get such costumes?

And all the while he sat next to Sora, who seldom laughed except for a few of Tooyama's antics. She seemed quite partial to their youngest player. She had twisted at his will quite easily: cold to others but tolerable to him. Zaizen gave her a sideways frown.

How capricious of her.

He stood from the table and strolled outside in search for fresh air. Not too long after, Sora rose from her seat and lurched out of the shop. Kintaro sprung up to follow her, but was held down by his senpais. A bemused scowl crinkled his nose. Shiraishi held his finger to his lips, gesturing for the boy to be quiet.

"Let them have a little time, Kin-chan." Kintaro was altogether ignorant to his senpai's ulterior motives. Kenya tapped his flexed fingers on the table.

"Oi, are we playing matchmaker, Shiraishi-kun?"

…

_**Author's Note:**_

_Zaizen thinks too much. _

_Kintaro on the other hand, does not think enough._

_Rates and review please!_


	5. A Mundane Conversation

_**Disclaimer**_: I, the author, sadly do not own Prince of Tennis at all ever and I never will. I guess I just own the OC character.

…

_**Flashback:**_

_He stood from the table and strolled outside in search for fresh air. Not too long after, Sora rose from her seat and lurched out of the shop. Kintaro sprung up to follow her, but was held down by his senpais. A bemused scowl crinkled his nose. Shiraishi held his finger to his lips, gesturing for the boy to be quiet._

"_Let them have a little time, Kin-chan." Kintaro was altogether ignorant to his senpai's ulterior motives. Kenya tapped his flexed fingers on the table._

"_Oi, are we playing matchmaker, Shiraishi-kun?"_

…

Zaizen looked to be engrossed in the people along the street: the bikers, the walkers, animals, couples. A boy around his own age had bought a single flower for his companion; and sure she seemed enthralled by his gesture, but it was the end of the day when all of the bouquets were wilting and dry. Truly a waste of materials in his opinion; not to mention that flowers were fleeting, eager to shrivel and decay just as their shallow relationship would. He could almost smell the rotting perfume of the flower,

But reluctantly found himself in a coughing fit, with Sora standing on the other side of the entrance with a cigarette balancing on her bottom lip. She took the stick in her hands and exhaled a bit of smoke, the wind whipping it directly at him.

"Don't blow that shit in my face," he snarled at her. Slowly she glanced at him, then back at the wandering people before letting her cigarette drop to the ground. After a beat comprised tense glares, he spoke.

"You're tennis is sloppy."

"Do you criticize everyone like that?" She said immediately. He straightened his back; it was the first full sentence she had uttered, and it knocked him off his pedestal for a moment. She continued,

"You know, your insults are unashamedly open," she turned her head towards him and leaned in, "but you, as a person, are rather closed, aren't you?"

He stood with his green eyes challenging her slate.

They weren't metallic as they were playing tennis, and they weren't gentle as they were staring at Tooyama. They were alive—breathing even—as if she had become an actual, tangible person in front of him. They dared him to speak, but he refused.

"Don't like your own tricks, do you?" She glided past him, not before being halted by his extended foot. She turned to him. He wasn't finished.

"You act like this ghost just floating around. Aloof, stupid even. Yet here you are having an articulate conversation. What is your game?"

"Game?"

"All you girls play them, you're all manipulative like that. Do you want people to feel sorry for you? Is that why Shiraishi is trying to force us to be around you?" He could feel his voice rising and his control waning. He should have stopped to save himself the further embarrassment, but pressed his issue,

"Quit acting like you're the only person in this world. You're-"

"Zaizen-han, I believe this conversation would be better suited in front of a mirror."

But as he glared at her he did in fact see himself. In her shadowed eyes he saw his disoriented silhouette: arrogant, self-conscious, bottled. It was as if she had opened all of his wounds that housed his faults, and threateningly held an armful of salt overhead.

It was then that Zaizen realized that she was implying that there was no reason for his incessant criticism of her tennis, for it was coming from a fellow human that was just as blemished.

She was aware of her lackluster tennis, she was aware of her insipid personality, and if lightning struck twice then she was aware of her weakness to Kintaro.

But as well,

She was aware of him?

Kiyomizu Sora.

Her name was quite fitting—because oddly enough her temperament did resemble the water and sky: self aware and omnipresent, but never boastful.

Then what did his name imply for him? Shining, ray of light. Could such epithets really apply to him when most other females—if not the entire school population—found him bleak and cold-hearted?

After his eyes finished pulsating he calmly exhaled, remorseful for the display that he made of himself. It was a terrible first impression for the both of them; he had no reason to yell at her based on his assumptions, and she had no reason to extract such an uncharacteristic agitation from him. When his relaxed gaze met hers he saw that her eyes were no longer soulless, nor valiant, nor placid. They were eyes: simple, mundane, blue-grey. A small smile lifted her lips, and it felt oddly natural. Kintaro's imagination bubbled within him as he pondered if he stepped into another dimension, but Zaizen scolded himself for thinking so childishly. If he had any pride left, he would have swallowed it and apologized to her, but she held up a firm hand to him.

"Zaizen-han, can we be friends?"

A beat.

"No," he stated simply.

…

_**Author's Note:**_

_I hope these characters aren't getting too OOC, that would be no good._

_I just want to make sure Zaizen is depicted as thoughtful and calculating,_

_Or something like that._

_Please, tell me what you think!_


	6. Her Slate Blue Door

_**Disclaimer**_: I, the author, sadly do not own Prince of Tennis at all ever and I never will. I guess I just own the OC character.

…

_**Flashback:**_

"_Zaizen-han, can we be friends?" _

_A beat._

"_No," he stated simply._

…

Her expression did not wane as she turned and left him. He watched her as she strolled slowly down the street, but self-realization hit him when his team toppled out of the noddle shop onto the street and pummeled him. Kintaro's face was a deep violet, for Gin's meaty hand was covering his mouth to keep him from detonating. Yuuji was stretching his face with a contemplative bend in his eyebrows. Koharu sighed and ran a hand over his gleaming forehead.

"Hikaru-kun, there goes the love of your life and the mother of all of your angry little children." He pushed his eyebrows down with his index fingers to mimic Zaizen's glare. The team giggled at the image of Zaizen holding a slew of children with a giggling Sora latched on to his arm. Zaizen turned an unsightly shade of green and roared at his senpai,

"Don't make up such ridiculous stories!" He pushed his teammates off of him and ambled in the direction of his house, sadly trailing behind Sora. Hell, why did he have to inadvertently live in the same direction as she? He was even more downtrodden when he realized that Kintaro and Kenya would soon be following him as well to return to their according households. He earnestly contemplated moving. Shiraishi called after him,

"We have practice tomorrow after school, no skipping Zaizen-kun!" He sent a small wave to his captain without turning around. Not too long after he was greeted with the cheeky pokes of Kenya and Tooyama.

…

"Zaizen-kun," Kenya flicked his friend's earrings playfully. He ignored him.

"Zaizen-kun," the Speed Star crooned again, "don't you want to be friends with her? She understands you." Kenya's voice was slathered in mockery, and it certainly did not amuse said pierced tennis player.

"No," he repeated. Tooyama bounced forwards in a careless skip, ignoring the discussion between his two senpais.

"Goro-chan!" He sung. Zaizen and Kenya watched as the red head bounded closer to the girl, knitting his fingers together behind his head before settling to a controlled pace beside her. Both noted the way their youngest player would occasionally lose his footing and drift closer to her, bumping her several times. From the profile of their faces they could gather that he was saying something utterly ridiculous and she had politely responded with an airy laugh. He'd occasionally grab her arm or shoulder to stress a point he was trying to make, and she'd nod understandingly.

He was being Kintaro—naturally—but something about his common gestures seemed so… unfamiliar when directed towards Sora. Kintaro ran and stopped in front of the girl, breaking the calm sunset that blanketed the sky. Kenya smirked and turned to Hikaru, who looked at him suspiciously. Their eyes drifted back ahead, causing them to stop as they realized they were much closer to the two in front of them than before.

"This is my stop," they turned to see Sora's house: it was so plain that it borderlined austere. The only thing that caught their eye was the balcony from what they assumed to be her room, and the oversized windows that freckled the house. During the day they probably didn't even need internal lighting by allowing every inch of sun to pour through.

"So cool, Goro-chan!" Kintaro gasped at her modest home, though highly unnecessary. She grinned haltingly and turned her vision to the two boys who skulked behind her.

In the dipping sunlight she looked eerily like a girl: curving skin, feminine eyes, a small bowed mouth. It took a moment for the boys to realize that all along she was one: a creature entirely different from them, yet not unheard of. Kenya jabbed his elbow into his brooding companion's ribs and asked her,

"Will you be accompanying us for tennis tomorrow?"

"Hai." She nodded, then pushed through her door. When the door was solidly shut, Kenya turned to Zaizen and teased,

"You know, Kintaro can beat you in almost anything?"

"Hn?"

"He already has a head start." The speed star gave his companion one last knowing look before he set off on his own path. Zaizen glanced down to Tooyama.

He—for once in his life—stood still, and had his hands at his side and his eyes focused on her door.

Her slate-blue door.

_**Author's Note:**_

_The senpais are sneaky little things._

_Rate and review, please!_


	7. Fool Around

_**Disclaimer**_: I, the author, sadly do not own Prince of Tennis at all ever and I never will. I guess I just own the OC character.

…

_**Flashback:**_

_Zaizen glanced down to Tooyama._

_He—for once in his life—stood still, and had his hands at his side and his eyes focused on her door._

_Her slate-blue door._

…

Zaizen wasn't really surprised when he saw Shiraishi in the changing room putting away his tennis bag. He also wasn't surprised when Shiriashi promptly questioned him about yesterday.

"Zaizen-kun, you were really affected by what she said, weren't you?" He paused. It had been the first time a girl had made him feel so angry—and not only at her, but at himself as well. However, Zaizen was composed with his answer.

"No, senpai."

"You can learn a lot when you're backed into a corner, you know. Don't be so quick to disregard her." He watched as his captain slipped on his shoes and left.

…

Shiraishi could feel something budding in his kohai, something both younger teammates were unaccustomed to.

And being team captain, he felt the obligation to expose his students to their untapped emotions. After so many years of ignorance in Middle School it was time to come to terms with maturation.

He was thoroughly delighted that he barely had to lift a finger so far; a smile of satisfaction grasped at his lips. He opened the door to his classroom.

"Ohayou, Kiyomizu-ch-" he stopped mid sentence as he entered.

Sora was posed nonchalantly in her chair. The act of sitting itself should have been entirely typical for Shiraishi to see, but rather Sora sat—slouched—in her chair with both legs resting on the top of her desk in a typically boyish manner.

Now she was still a real life girl with girl parts, parts that were narrowly hidden by her rising uniform. The students in the class kept a close eye on her still figure, anticipating the slightest twitch of fabric.

He averted his eyes so that he would be able to have a decent conversation with her without impure thoughts muddling his brain.

Her empty blue eyes glanced up from her textbook, but as they met Shiraishi's bashful frame they brightened like a flickering lighter.

"Ohayou," she murmured. Shiraishi brought a hand to his temple to direct his vision to the wall when he felt his gaze travel to where it shouldn't.

"Kiyomizu-chan will you please fix your skirt?"

She smiled deviously behind her textbook, "Hai." When Shiraishi suspected he was safe he turned only to have his entire face turn white.

She had lifted her skirt up around her-

"Kiyomi-" he stopped himself when he noticed that she was wearing opaque athletic tights that reached her mid-thigh. With her underhanded little trick, his face melted into a cynical frown. She continued to casually smile behind her textbook.

"This school is supposed to be about humor, yes?"

He chuckled lightly, but sported a faint pink to his cheeks.

What an odd one she was,

that Kiyomizu Sora.

…

The ringing of bells signaled the arrival of lunch period, Zaizen made his way for his locker and dutifully put away his books and reached for his bento box. It was filled with the bare essentials, which he was utterly content with; though he received daily lunches from flirtatious schoolgirls—as if he would seriously consider eating them. He began to close the locker's door, but paused by the mumbling of nearby students.

"I hear that new Kiyomizu student is pretty out there, I like that in a girl."

Zaizen heard their lewd whispers by chance, and did not expect their perverse warbles to be directed at the tall, solidly built zombie that was Kiyomizu Sora.

"I know, the spacey ones are so easy to fool around with. Smart girls are always trouble, and most of them are so prude anyway." Fool around with? Zaizen ears warmed, who the hell would want to do such a thing with a drag like Sora?

_Fool around._

Zaizen scolded himself for forgetting that he was in fact a teenage boy in high school surrounded by others comprised of similar compounds. They had sickly desires that he himself was currently unexposed to, but honestly;

What did they possibly see in her?

What on Earth could she have to satisfy their primal needs?

She was tall and athletic, could that be considered attractive? Weren't most of his counterparts fawning over delicate, fair women with short skirts? She was a brooding giant who wore her skirt modestly at her knee. Surely, she would be the last organism such males would choose to interact with.

She was different, and she knew it.

So then, could she have purposely extended her peculiar image past off-putting right back around to alluring? It wasn't every day a girl wore her uniform so humbly, or was as tall as she was.

But though she differed greatly from the girls that roamed their school, she was exactly like the rest of them.

_She was different, and she knew it._

Striving for attention, the nerve of her.

Setting herself apart from her classmates in order to create a spectacle of herself, so typically female.

After realizing that he was clutching the door of his locker far too roughly, he let it close and turned his attention towards the duo.

"Well then let's go and talk to her."

The boys sauntered slyly with a set of scheming smirks aimed at her. Zaizen watched, the tiniest bit of anticipation tugging at him. One of the letches tried to strike up a conversation with her, while the other falsely dropped his pencil and proceeded to glance up her skirt. By the peculiar way the boy angled his foot he could tell what the pair was planning. He was sure that some sort of supernatural being had possessed his body as it moved against his better judgment. But whatever spirit had inhabited his body had pushed him off the wall to ruin their sick sense of fun, but was interrupted by—whom else—

Kintaro.

Before one of the boys could get a firm grip on her hemline in attempt to disrobe her, said red haired fireball nearly jumped into Sora's arms.

"Goro-chan! Let's eat lunch together!" Wordlessly she followed him with her bento in her hands, leaving the lecherous boys still as stone. As she passed, Zaizen couldn't help but feel a tingle contract his eyebrow. He wasn't entirely sure what had instigated his reaction, but he just watched as she left arm in arm with Shitenhoji's youngest member.

...

**_Author's Note:_**

_Kintaro you little moment ruiner._

_Naw, it's not like Zaizen would have really done anything,_

_or would he?_

_Anyway, rate and review, please!_


	8. Track Star

_**Disclaimer**_: I, the author, sadly do not own Prince of Tennis at all ever and I never will. I guess I just own the OC character.

…

_**Flashback:**_

_"Goro-chan! Let's eat lunch together!" Wordlessly she followed him with her bento in her hands, leaving the lecherous boys still as stone. As she passed, Zaizen couldn't help but feel a tingle contract his eyebrow. He wasn't entirely sure what had instigated his reaction, but he just watched as she left arm in arm with Shitenhoji's youngest member._

...

Kintaro watched as the track team captains ran up to Sora with expectancy glittering in their eyes. She seemed honestly bored by their words, though he wasn't paying attention to what they were trying to persuade her to do. He stood still in the middle of the court and didn't even move when Gin called out his name.

"Kin-han!" The ball slammed his head back and sent him tumbling into the gate. Yet this somehow did not faze the boy, though he lay like a pretzel on the ground: his legs all twisted and tucked into his ear.

"Why are the track captains here, and why are they talking to Sora-han?" Kenya dribbled a tennis ball, turning to Shitenhoji's tensai for explanation. Koharu lowered his head and pushed up his glasses theatrically before speaking. He clasped his hands behind his back, a solemn wind blowing past him.

"Sora-kun was… a track star."

"Nani?!" Kintaro rolled out from his tucked position.

Koharu placed two fingers on his rims, shadowing his face as he continued.

"She never won a single event, it was her destiny not to medal, even a measly bronze!" He clutched his fist in anguish.

"Then how is she a track star?" Kenya launched the tennis ball at Zaizen—who showed diminutive interest in Sora's escapades as a runner.

"I was rumored that she'd run the fastest times during solo practices—she had even surpassed her school's record for the 3200 three times over—but come meet day she'd take a bow and settle for the 4th spot or lower. Many people assumed she did so poorly because she'd often get spiked during meets."

"Spiked?"

"Other runners would hit or step on her with their track shoes."

"What bottoms do those track flats have?!" Kintaro lifted his foot to his face to study the bottom of his bulky tennis shoes.

"Giant nail-like spears to grip the track." Kenya made large sweeping motions to enthrall Tooyama's animated horror.

Shiraishi cupped his chin with his index and thumb; he had to wonder, how much did spiking hurt in comparison to playing tennis barefoot? He grimaced at the girl's potential masochism and placed it at the back of his mind.

At some point in time, Kintaro lifted the seating bench over his head.

"Goro-chan won't join track, she'll play tennis with us!"

"Brat, you can't tell her what to do." Zaizen flipped his racquet at Kintaro, but he would not go down without a fight.

"Goro-chan won't!" He stomped childishly and sprinted over to Sora, shaking her arm furiously and inadvertently shooing off the track captains. When just the two were left, a triumphant smile widened his youthful cheeks. He released her arm and placed his fists on the side of his hips, saying something or other to Sora to instigate a light laugh from her.

Zaizen's frowning face tensed: the little runt got whatever he wanted no matter what it was,

And just how the hell was he able to extract that softened look from her?

Those stupid, ordinary slate eyes had their own personified dispositions: lifeless with people she had no interest in, determined when she was participating in competitive sports, and soft—almost loving—when she interacted with Kintaro.

They were eyes for heaven's sake! They meant nothing.

She was just like every other girl: calculating, unreliable and… female.

Zaizen felt like a complete idiot. She was just a girl. Had he really spent so much time around his male counterparts to grow such disdain for a creature that wasn't even worth his time?

And furthermore, why did she waste everyone else time with her capriciousness? She was talented enough to further a track career, to rise to the top of the girl's tennis team, and human enough to have friends.

But she squandered every opportunity offered to her in return for that ridiculous blank stare.

What did she have to be passionate about; she showed no interest in anything. He could feel a distaste gurgling in his stomach;

Everything about the girl was a waste, a complete waste.

Apparently she could feel him seething at her, because her living, breathing irises locked with his.

And for once he could feel her really look at him,

rather in to him.

Sora let her breathing regulate slowly, she almost felt sorry for the boy. His green eyes to others were severe and uncaring. They looked at strangers with distaste, his teammates with reluctant affection, but when they locked with hers they were bemused—it was almost a child-like gaze: frustrated but constantly in thought.

Despite his proud stature, he _was_ oddly like a child, Sora noted.

Even more so than Kintaro.

Before Zaizen knew it, she was standing directly in front of him. He knew she was going to question him on his intensive staring, so he answered her before she could move her lips.

"Why do you categorize people?"

"I think you should direct that question onto yourself, Zaizen-han." He choked on a sharp inhale of breath.

"It's as if you don't even acknowledge half the things around, like they're not important," he stated evenly, regaining his cool. She looked down at him; Zaizen recognized that she was exactly a quarter of an inch taller than he was.

"I see what I want to see."

He paused, so she did see him?

The glint in her grey irises hinted the sort.

Damn, girls were so troublesome, especially older girls like Sora—even if they did just differ by a single year. She was illogical, incomprehensible, unreadable.

Yet she was like him. And he definitely knew himself.

Didn't he?

Zaizen could feel the circuits in his brain sputtering, shutting down trying to decode the indescribable Sora. Shiraishi's voice startled him out of his stupor.

"Zaizen-kun, I've never seen you look so troubled before."

"I'm not troubled," he snapped.

**_Author's Note:_**

_Sorry if every chapter makes Zaizen look like an angry, seething, pissy-_

_Well he is kind of all of the above,_

_Regardless, I think next chapter he is a little less brooding._

_Stay tuned!_


	9. Sora Can't Swim

_**Disclaimer**_: I, the author, sadly do not own Prince of Tennis at all ever and I never will. I guess I just own the OC character.

_**Flashback:**_

_"Zaizen-kun, I've never seen you look so troubled before."_

_"I'm not troubled," he snapped._

…

"Goro-chan, you're so tan!"

She seemed silently amused by his incredulity and replied,

"I went to the beach over the weekend."

"Nani, why didn't you call us, we would have joined you."

Sora cocked her eyebrow.

"I don't have any of your numbers," she said bluntly. Shiraishi chuckled with a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. He removed his phone and held it out to her so that she may input her number, but was interrupted by Kintaro standing on his toes in front of her to inspect her tan.

The little ball of fire was unaffected by Shiraishi's wails as his phone was carelessly knocked from his hand to the ground, cracking on impact.

As he looked deep into her face, he could detect the subtle freckles materializing on her gristly skin. They were endearing, which was odd to see on her. Her picture wasn't exactly next to the definition of cute or attractive. But something about her sun kisses brought a child-like trait to her severely mature face. He lifted a single finger and poked several of the spots that cluttered her cheeks and nose. Before he knew it he was tracing them, connecting uncorrelated dots into pictures and constellations. He didn't realize that he was essentially caressing her face with his outpointed finger. He was taken back when his finger started to heat up against her skin.

She was blushing, it was the first time he had ever seen her blush.

And he was the cause of it.

He retracted his arm quickly, a blaze of heat covering his face as well. Zaizen inwardly retched at the scene their youngest member had made, but perked when Sora's face quickly reverted to its accustomed pretense of neutrality.

So fickle, so woman-like.

She spoke; "I have a beach house if you guys want to spend a weekend there. We'll have it all to ourselves. It should be fun before winter hits."

…

It would have been silly for the boys to assume that just because they were attending a beach then they would be blessed to see Sora among hundreds of other girls wrapped in borderline indecent swimsuits. To their dismay, she wore a large cotton raglan shirt that was sure to confuse genders as they passed her by; as well her legs were clothed in their accustomed athletic tights. Naturally, her feet were free from shoes, lightly twisting circles in the sand. It was expected that at least one of them would speak up.

"Aren't you going to swim?"

She had her arms crossed and a poker-face that rivaled some of the most notorious gamblers.

"I don't know how."

Shiraishi chortled, had one of the Regulars been teaching her lessons in humor?

"Kiyomizu-chan, are you pulling our legs like at the beginning of the year?"

Kintaro looked down at his legs, misinterpreting Shiraishi's choice of phrase.

Her arms were still crossed.

"No." They all looked stunned, even the notorious sourpuss, Zaizen. Though his astonishment quickly manifested into a look of annoyance.

"You have a beach house, and yet you do not know how to swim?"

"Hai."

Zaizen pinched the space in between his eyes so hard he could have ripped the skin. He fought a powerful urge to turn right back around and walk home. It didn't help that the Baka twins were wearing identical two pieces and had been attempting to rub suntan lotion on his back for the past hour. Sora's now irritating voice broke his internal seething.

"I like walking or running along the beach, but I'm not a swimmer."

"Would you like to learn how to swim, Kiyomizu-chan?"

They assumed she would instantaneously decline, but she paused before she spoke.

"No."

Well, damn.

Kintaro, of course, refused to take no for an answer and took her wrist—surprisingly gentler than expected—and led her to the tip of the undulating waves.

"Come on, Goro-chan, we can teach you!"

She put up no fight, though she did not agree to their invitation. Yuuji leaned heavily on Zaizen's shoulder and hummed impishly,

"Well don't we need to get Sora-kun a bathing suit? Maybe Hikaru-kun could show her how to put it on."

Sora blinked a number of times before swinging her foot backwards—ultimately kicking sand into both Yuuji and Zaizen's face. She smiled in sync with Kintaro's laughter and let her toes succumb to the teasing of the tide's bubbling grazes.

...

**_Author's Note:_**

_I'm trying not to make this the typical beach scene that is seen in a lot of stories, _

_So, I hope you enjoy!_


	10. Maturity, and the Lack Thereof

_**Disclaimer**_: I, the author, sadly do not own Prince of Tennis at all ever and I never will. I guess I just own the OC character.

_**Flashback:**_

_"Well don't we need to get Sora-kun a bathing suit? Maybe Hikaru-kun could show her how to put it on."_

_Sora blinked a number of times before swinging her foot backwards—ultimately kicking sand into both Yuuji and Zaizen's face. She smiled in sync with Kintaro's laughter and let her toes succumb to the teasing of the tide's bubbling grazes._

...

They never knew that Sora could be nervous, or strong—not strong as in the courageous sense, but rather strong as an Olympic weightlifter. Her hands nearly crushed bones as they encircled Shiraishi and Zaizen's wrists. Her face was unnaturally poised, but her short, serrated breaths through her nose gave her away.

She was only knee deep in the water.

"Oi, Kiyo-" Shiraishi strained a smile as her grip tightened when the water hit her thighs, "-mizu-chan, it's fine. We're here to keep you safe." His breathing was becoming uneven as her knuckles turned white upon entering the water waist deep. She intensified her focus on Tooyama and Kenya swimming circles around each other several meters ahead.

Zaizen's brow was starting to form a permanent line, as he was always forced to be within inches of Sora—and it was safe to say he did not enjoy it one bit. Was she squeezing his wrist extra hard to enact revenge on his previous behavior? She tightened her grip as her chest was submerged underwater, and he hissed warningly,

"Kiyomizu-senpai-" he tried to shake his arm free from her grip but was halted by the indescribable expression that pore from her face.

She looked vulnerable,

Like a little girl.

Well of course she was a girl, Zaizen knew that.

But for the first time she actually looked like she was exuding genuine emotion, and fear no less. She wasn't showing the emotions she wanted to show, keeping the rest reserved in her little dusty box of humanity—she was being purely human.

Solely for them, she was human.

She didn't respond to his words; and as her feet started losing tread on the sand, she uttered one small grunt with her eyes wide as saucers. Zaizen and Shiraishi nearly gasped at her uncharacteristic display. Zaizen could feel himself being pulled underwater by her thrashing, and scowled with a small ribbon of pink on his nose as his body reacted without proper compliance from his brain.

He reached over and placed his flexed hand over her shirt's stomach—she ultimately declined the request to don a swimsuit. The shirt thinned being soaked by the ocean, and gave way to his finger's pressure. He could feel her abdomen tightened as she tried to stay above the tide's violent ripple. Her skin was not as hard as he thought—though he denied ever contemplating the tautness of her abdomen. He could feel a little cushion coating her core, hiding a wall of muscle that was clenching for dear life against the pulling waves. He lifted her ribs and forced her higher above the water, unintentionally pulling himself closer to her.

He shivered as her hand released his wrist and smoothly traveled to his shoulder, what sort of sorcery was she enacting upon him that caused him to respond this way? And just what was she planning have her fingers cupped over his shoulder like that? She dug her fingers in, but they didn't hurt. Actually, his skin was oddly tingling; just when was it decided that he would be one of Sora's pillars of strength? He reached up to pry her—oddly feminine—hand off his shoulder but was halted when she had already released him and was floating shakily in the water.

"Now just kick your feet, Goro-chan!" Kintaro held out his arms to create a bridge to her. She quietly obeyed him and paddled towards their red-haired teammate. When she reached his outstretched arms she straightened and hovered against his grip. For such a small boy he had an unfathomable amount of strength: he was able to keep her afloat singlehandedly better than Zaizen and Shiraishi had combined.

He also looked so… at ease protecting her from being sucked in by the wave's merciless tug. He looked beyond the age he usually acted, even beyond his own chronological age. Could their Tooyama actually be described as…

Mature?

…

"Goro-chan, your hair is so cool!"

"It used to be really long."

"Really?!"

"Hai." She seemed to egg him on; it sickened Zaizen. He faked a light snore and turned on his side.

"Well how did it get so short?" She didn't speak for what seemed to be hours. Finally she stated,

"It was burned off." Zaizen's ear twitched a bit, but he stayed perfectly still in his false sleep. But as Tooyama started stammering he gave in to the temptation of turning his head the tiniest bit to see what had made him so flustered.

"M-matte matte, Goro-chan!" He heard. She was undressing herself, but not in a seductive way. She lowered the neckline of her shirt over her shoulder to reveal a large burn scar that ribboned from her shoulder blade to her collarbone. It covered her skin like dragon scales: rough, unattractive, and mealy. She pulled her shirt back up and explained.

Well she didn't so much explain as she shrugged and ran a dry hand through her hair, sounding vaguely embarrassed,

"I fell asleep while smoking."

Zaizen's eyebrow twitched,

Once,

Twice,

He sat up instantly as if a spring had gone off in his back and threw dark green daggers into her back. Kintaro glanced at him and prepared for yet another explosion of curses inadvertently ignited by something that Sora had done.

As if the entire illusion of reality had flipped, Zaizen took a sharp breath in, his face turning a sickly blue. He let a couple stifled grunts catch his throat, and before he could utter even a small oath he was up off the chair and walking along the beach. His footsteps were quick and fumbling, but he held his head high, he refused to have his pride snatched away from him solely because of Kiyomizu's absurdity!

Kintaro sat stunned in his chair, Sora a little bemused. Was the infamous Zaizen,

Throwing a fit?

Sora fought it with all of her might, but unwillingly let an unladylike snort escape, a small river of chuckles following after.

Kintaro sat very still in his chair as if he would scare off her demure laughter with the slightest jolt. His large—almost deer-like—eyes studied the way the bridge of her nose crinkled, the way she snapped her eyes shut, the way she shook her head as if chastising Zaizen's actions by exposing her amusement.

His eyes fled from her dissipating giggles towards the beach before them.

One of the Baka Twins had a crab clutching his finger with fervor not ordinarily seen in crustaceans, the other trying to pry it off—to no avail.

Shiraishi had a few women fawning at his side as an exasperated Kenya rolled his eyes at his captain's unnatural flair to attract the opposite sex.

Oi, they forgot to invite Kenjiro… not that anyone really noticed.

Chitose was lying under a shady tree with his wild black hair acting as a decent makeshift pillow.

Gin was sitting near the waves, entranced in with looked to be a very enthralling meditating session.

Everything before him was that of a normal Shitenhoji day, a normal day with his teammates.

But the person beside him could not at all be described as his teammate.

What resided beside him was in fact,

A girl.

And Kintaro looked at her as if she had been the first an only female to exist, a creature so elusive that it was almost a myth. His muddied brown eyes met her grey, and she said absolutely nothing.

If any of the books that Yuuji and Koharu had given him for his birthday were true, she would have leaned in and—

Well did something, he never actually read that far. The lack of action and violence bored him before he actually read what was supposed to happen.

Regardless, she just gave him a small smirk and stood to her feet. She stretched, audible cracks and creaks emitting from her joints,

"I'm going to make dinner. It'll get dark soon, and I'm sure the smell of food will bring him back." Kintaro sprung from his chair, toppling over every single piece of nearby beach-safe furniture in the process.

"Saa, Goro-chan's cooking!"

Sora didn't know how the hell he moved that swiftly or silently, but somehow Koharu was balancing on her back with his arms twisting around her neck. He curled his ribs around the top of her head so that his gleaming glasses were meeting her—silently fuming—eyes.

"Sora-kun, shall you be donning an apron?-"

To make matters worse, the other half of the Baka Twins decided to emerge from thin air.

"-Perhaps nothing else?"

How in the world was Sora managing to balance not only Koharu on her shoulder, but now the second half of the Baka Duo, Yuuji?

Perhaps it was the palpable ire seeding from the very grey depths of her core.

Shiraishi and Kenya's delightful conversation with the slew of women around them had been cut dramatically short when two frenzied screams rung from behind them.

It was that day that the image of Sora—completely red-faced with monstrous muscles tensing over her entire being—throwing the Baka Duo far into the depths of the ocean had been forever burned into their brain.

Shiraishi couldn't help but laugh until tears graced his eyes; he wiped a small bead of water from his face and smiled,

She was beginning to look a lot like Zaizen.

...

**_Author's Note:_**

_The fun is only beginning, stay tuned for more!_


	11. Grey-Eyed Fury

_**Disclaimer**_: I, the author, sadly do not own Prince of Tennis at all ever and I never will. I guess I just own the OC character.

_**Flashback:**_

_It was that day that the image of Sora—completely red-faced with monstrous muscles tensing over her entire being—throwing the Baka Duo far into the depths of the ocean had been forever burned into their brain._

_Shiraishi couldn't help but laugh until tears graced his eyes; he wiped a small bead of water from his face and smiled,_

_She was beginning to look a lot like Zaizen._

...

He was hungry.

And it was dark.

They were probably already sleeping.

Whatever, it's not like he couldn't just make something for himself, he wasn't that inept.

And it wasn't all that dark out, the moon was sufficient enough.

"Zaizen-han."

_Shit_, he cursed inwardly. He only knew of one person who sounded so feminine—though oddly enough her voice was deep and humble a bit like Shiraishi's.

He just stood quiet in the sand, restraining the compulsion to answer back in a terse manner.

Wordlessly she handed him a plate of food, a bit cold, but edible nonetheless. He stably took the platter, and groped for the nearby chair that practically vanished under the night's veil.

For a while it was uncomfortably silent with only the sound of Zaizen's self-conscious chews merging with the ocean's rolling waves. Once finished, Zaizen placed the plate to his right and leaned his cheek into his palm, shielding his lips like a cage. He glanced at the lifeless girl beside him to ensure that she was in fact, not dead.

"You're boring," he mumbled through the slits in his fingers.

He used his ring finger to scratch the edge of his lip, letting his face casually drift towards the warm body beside him. Then his green eyes widened in the glittering moonlight.

A frustrated rumble threatened to rise up in his throat.

"Are you sleeping?"

Her only response was an airy whistle through her nose, and a subtle bow of her head.

_Great_, Zaizen thought, now he would have to carry her back to the beach house. He couldn't possibly drag her by her ankle—his teammates would most likely have a fit by his brusque behavior—and he couldn't just leave her exposed and unconscious along the beachside. He expounded a loud puff of air from his lungs and pulled at her shoulder.

"Wake up."

Maybe he could get her to walk back herself.

"Wake up, Kiyomizu-senpai." Her eyes fluttered open slightly, and then snapped back shut. Zaizen greatly wanted to just upturn her chairs so that she would be face down in the sand, but instead ran his hand through his hair and stood beside her.

He tugged at her arm and slid her body onto the back of his. He braced his legs to stand, but a small furrow appeared on his brow.

"Damn, you're heavy," he muttered. As he realized the sound of his own voice was not safely locked in his head, he stood still as stone. If she heard him, he would surely be lying in the current with his discarded limbs floating away from him. He may not be an expert on girls, but even he knew that pointing out a girl's weight was as close to a cardinal sin as one could get. He let out a relieved sigh when he was sure that he was still breathing regularly and clearly not mutilated at the bottom of the ocean.

His teammates were sprawled along the couch and single spare bed in the other room. Zaizen frowned, where would he sleep?

He dare not sleep in her bed with her, what would his teammates think of that? Even if he slept in the same room as her it was sure to arouse suspicion.

His concentration proved to be his downfall as he heard a solid 'thunk' above him.

_Shit_, he cursed again.

He had inadvertently hit Sora's head against the top of the threshold. He was completely frozen in place, honestly terrified that she would wake up and decapitate him right then and there. When she barely even stirred he gently lowered himself and ducked into her room, a small tinge on his cheeks when she pushed her head against his ear.

…

"Mmph!"

Though Zaizen came off as an embittered, arrogant tennis tensai, he did not use the word 'hate' too often.

But for the love of Kami did he hate this girl.

He hated her from the very depths of his heart, his soul, his entire being.

Sora, apparently, had been awake the entire time. She only forced Zaizen to carry her back so that she could hold him in this position,

Just to annoy the ever-living hell out of him.

Well, he did indirectly call her fat,

And accidentally slammed her head against the threshold.

As well he did storm off from the confines of her beach house, not returning until well after midnight, probably leaving his teammates and Sora feverishly worried.

"Mmph! Let go!" Zaizen's voice was hushed, but reeling with agitation.

Sora had him in a tight headlock on the bed so that he was hovering over her, her knee cramming into his back, his eyes weakly counting the number of moonlit rays on the ceiling. Kami, she was strong! Her forearm flexed to leave him little room for breath. He couldn't see her face, but Kintaro's vivid imagination pulsed through him as her voice shot an image of blue-grey through his blood.

"Zaizen-han."

Her arm flexed again, her hand clamping harder over his mouth, revoking his chance to reply.

A brief anthology of his life flashed against the ceiling, and he truly wondered if this would be his last day to possess a human body. His skin was turning an unsightly purple, he could feel Sora's arm slowly retract its venomous constriction, her knee slid so that his spine was not being gored, and her hand unclasped his mouth.

Zaizen almost let his guard down enough to sigh, but felt the back of his neck being gathered in her leathery fist and his body pulled from the bed. His feet shuffled lamely towards the door against her pushing, she swiftly twirled him around so that he was looking up at her.

His imagination did not even compare to the ferocity that graced her irises.

He had half a mind to apologize for being absent for so long, for calling her fat, for hitting her head at the entrance,

But Zaizen had pride, and he damn well did not have the patience to throw his remorseful body at her—though a noticeable shiver was overtaking his muscles. Instead Sora growled forebodingly,

"You're making dinner tomorrow."

Her door slammed shut.

...

**_Author's Note:_**

_Well that's __that._

_Stay tuned for next week for explanation of these shenanigans._


	12. Raw and Chemical

_**Disclaimer**_: I, the author, sadly do not own Prince of Tennis at all ever and I never will. I guess I just own the OC character.

_**Flashback:**_

_He had half a mind to apologize for being absent for so long, for calling her fat, for hitting her head at the entrance,_

_But Zaizen had pride, and he damn well did not have the patience to throw his remorseful body at her—though a noticeable shiver was overtaking his muscles. Instead Sora growled forebodingly,_

_"You're making dinner tomorrow."_

_Her door slammed shut._

...

He woke—still vexed that Sora had nearly severed his ties with air the night prior—to the smell of breakfast cooking. Perhaps Shiraishi was whipping up some of his famous noodles; though it was not entirely breakfast material, it would do. He rose sluggishly—as he was slumped uncomfortably against the back of the couch since there was nary any room to sleep—and shuffled over to the kitchen expecting to see his captain in some ridiculously frilly apron.

What he saw was indeed a masculine figure wearing a humorously girlish apron,

But it was not Shiraishi.

"Zaizen-han," she said without turning to him.

She was intent on the color of the fish in her pan, lightly seasoning it when she felt need to. Zaizen flinched, for some reason the way she uttered his name sent unwanted shivers through his body. He quickly shook off his reaction and chalked it all up to the chemical compounds on the ocean mixed with the dangerous UV rays of the sun. He watched warily as she prepared a plate for him, unsure whether or not he should eat the meal—suspecting it to be poisoned or inedible. It dawned on him as she leaned towards him how she looked uncannily like a woman.

Not a girl, but a woman.

She was tall and commanding, and her sharp angular face was gently scolding him when he poked warily at the food. Her apron clung to the almost invisible curves that hid under her otherwise muscular form. She could almost be mistaken for their older sister, their mother even. Zaizen tightened the grip on his eating utensil when the awareness that he was residing in a beach house with a woman hit him like a hurdling train.

Him as well as six other males.

Zaizen wasn't even going to pretend like he—as well as the rest of the boys in the house—lacked functioning male organs, it was pointless really. The male population regrettably suffered the curse of their…extra appendage moving on its own during the night and occasionally presenting itself in the morning. Not from arousal—nothing of that sort—but just from the natural flow of blood during slumber. It was all to ensure that the male body was working correctly, it was healthy really, honestly.

But that didn't null the churning nausea in Zaizen's stomach as he realized that the opposite gender was right before him. He silently wondered if Sora was naïve enough to disregard is realization.

He glanced quickly when the guest bedroom opened; Kenya was walking with an awkward arch in his back that vividly told Zaizen that he was cursed with the dreaded morning present gracing his lower half. He nearly sighed in relief as Sora was engrossed in cooking another fish, completely unaware of Kenya skulking to the bathroom to rid of his burden.

Sora set the rest of the table and removed her apron, revealing the light cotton tee shirt she hid underneath. She wordlessly made her way out of the door, and Zaizen cursed himself for finishing his breakfast early only to follow her down the stairs outside—since when did he actually desire to be at her side?

Preposterous! He did not want to be at her side willingly, rather the opposite. He just wanted to berate her to why she nearly choked him to death the other night only to inform him—threaten him no less—that he was making dinner, which they would not have together anyway, as they were heading back to their homes before sundown.

He ran an unenthusiastic hand through his hair and glared at the unidentifiable emotion Sora was exuding through her back.

…

He sat in the water—which reached only his waist—and stared up at the menacing girl in front of him. It baffled Zaizen how sinister girls could be when they wanted to, and yet they could instantly turn sheepish or be easily subdued by a simple persuasive suggestion. It was as fascinating as it was repulsive. Zaizen's facial muscles were twitching in anger when Sora stood all too calmly in front of him with her arms crossed.

She threw him in the water, to be clear of their situation. As they neared far enough away from the beach house, she turned to him robotically, hoisted him up by his shirt, and casted him like a fishing line into the ocean.

Zaizen spat a little sand out of his mouth and hurled a basket of swear words in her direction. She returned them with a thick, uneasy silence. Finally, she spoke with a voice much deeper and rumbling than he had ever heard before.

"Don't wander off like that."

He opened his mouth to retort, but she beat him to it.

"That was very selfish of you."

It amazed the pierced tennis player how maternal she looked, as well as sounded.

"Kintaro-han was worried," of course he was, that's why her voice was so compassionate. She was only this kind when it involved their redheaded teammate. "He nearly ran three miles each direction looking for you," she finished.

Zaizen scoffed and turned his head to the side, which Sora took great notice of. She stepped closer, her shadow looming dangerously over him. Zaizen lowered his head to watch her feet; though her hands were oddly thin and feminine, her feet were wide and ogre-like—probably due to her mostly barefoot state. Zaizen scolded himself for showing weakness and avoiding her gaze, forcing himself to meet his stony green with her wispy grey.

His expression nearly fell from his face as he saw the concerned wrinkle in the skin below her eyes. Her stare was as still as the water he sat in, she spoke smoothly.

"You should feel lucky to have friends who care so much about you."

He could feel a pang of something enter his chest at the mention of his teammates—

His friends.

"After midnight I told them all to go to bed, and that I'd find you myself."

He was completely motionless at the sound of Sora's speech; it was seldom that he heard more than just three words from the girl, not to mention the sentences she was uttering were brimming with subdued passion. She lowered her lightened tresses down to him and ordered coldly before stalking off,

"Don't ever make them worry like that, again."

He couldn't speak, he didn't want to as he watched her walk composedly away.

It was the first time he had seen such anger out of her—at him no less—she was genuinely upset with him. She was not exuding the collected, knowing pretension she showed him before when _he_ would blow up at _her_. It was like he unearthed some raw emotion from her the same way she did him: it was uncomfortable for both parties, to be frank.

They both were like a dangerous chemical to one another.

She was tearing down the walls of his sanity while he dissolved her smoke façade to reveal a gender that he was not at all familiar with. Layer by layer they were both stripping each other of the fences they had constructed so masterfully for so long; and they were both doing it with frustrating ease.

It took a moment for Zaizen to comprehend that Sora, too, had an invisible skin covering her as well.

But it would be a cold day in Hell before she ever let anyone know that.

"Sora," he murmured to no one but himself,

"You are one confusing bitch."

...

**_Author's Note:_**

_Next week shall be fun, I promise you this._


	13. Girls

_**Disclaimer**_: I, the author, sadly do not own Prince of Tennis at all ever and I never will. I guess I just own the OC character.

_**Flashback:**_

_It took a moment for Zaizen to comprehend that Sora, too, had an invisible skin covering her as well._

_But it would be a cold day in Hell before she ever let anyone know that._

_"Sora," he murmured to no one but himself,_

_"You are one confusing bitch."_

...

They were cruising in Sora's compact vehicle, unfortunately the upperclassmen had purposefully forced Zaizen and Kintaro to carpool with the resident girl of their group: one visibly unhappy, while the other sat shotgun with a bursting smile across his open mouth.

"Goro-chan, Shiraishi-kun says you're a mermaid," the youngest Shitenhoji member said as he peeked down at her feet as if she would suddenly sprout a glittering blue tail.

Sora could only stifle a series of chuckles as she pressed lightly on the brake to ease into the red light. She slanted her head to the fireball next to her, only to see that he was still fixated on her bottom half. His eyes were curious and naïve, though she knew his fascination could easily be misconstrued. A small devious expression crossed her jaw as she spoke in a low, almost husky, voice.

"Kintaro, you're staring."

His face warmed, a flash of surprise twisting his expression. The fact that she omitted 'han,' 'chan,' even 'kun' from his name did not make the situation any better. Inaudibly, Zaizen tensed in the backseat. Immediately, Kintaro sat straight as if a metal rod had replaced his spine and fisted his hands at the hem of his shorts. He spoke with such composure that it earned a small sputter from Zaizen.

"I was looking at the track scars on your knees."

Even Sora was silent from the slight deepening of his voice,

As well as the lack of spontaneity and vivaciousness that essentially defined the redhead. Was this truly their Tooyama?

"Shiraishi-kun says you were a samurai in your past life."

Okay, he was back.

"Shiraishi-han also said that I was a mermaid."

Kintaro stayed silent for a moment in a painfully deep concentrative state, his arms crossed. Whatever fleeting thought entered his mind vanished almost instantly and he turned his entire body to the tawny-topped girl—which elicited a warning brow-raise from her at his blatant disregard for seat-belt regulations—and opened his eyes a bit wider.

"Do they still hurt?"

"My track scars?"

Kintaro nodded, making sure that he kept his eyes level to hers to avoid that disturbing tone in her voice again. She spoke lightly, as if her entire body were composed of torn cotton fragments.

"Pain is only temporary, it eventually fades."

With arms crossed, Zaizen stared at the melted skin peeking from Sora's racer back, an eyebrow arching as if to deny her cryptic answer. Her shoulders were wide and broad, it was a little sickening to say that it was a perfect canvas for the grotesque discoloration that so masterfully lay across her skin like a textured painting. The dragon scales across her back would occasionally twitch as she shifted or arched her spine, which earned a small wince from Zaizen: it was even more disturbing in motion.

With one flickering glance, the tensai caught Kintaro's doe eyes and with mutual agreement they held their breath.

_She was a damn terrible liar_.

…

It was as if he had experienced a spiritual awakening after coming back to school from Sora's beach house.

Well he wouldn't go to that extent, but something _was_ amiss when he returned to school a little tanner and still smelling of sea salt.

There were girls,

Girls everywhere.

Puttering around the halls, approaching him with determination in their eyes, loitering around lockers and by the gardens outside.

When the hell did all of these females inhabit Shitenhoji?

And, Kami, why did he find some of them to be…

Intriguing?

Some of them had long, flowing chestnut hair, some had exuberant hazel eyes, some were short and thin, others curvaceous with an overpowering sense of invitation in their posture. Some hid their weak legs under their skirt while others flaunted them without abandon. Some of them looked at him with blushing faces while others cowered from his gaze.

Why was he suddenly noticing such things; moreover, why did he care?

What sort of questionable ingredients did Sora put in her food at the beach house? Surely that was the only rational explanation for his behavior: some form of food poisoning.

A rather small girl with radiant orange hair scuttled up to him, and he shamefully admitted that there was something remotely engaging about her light peach skin and coffee eyes.

"Zaizen-senpai," a first year, of course, "may I eat lunch with you?"

Zaizen inwardly cursed himself as he dared to even contemplate such heresy. His immediate response should have been a firm 'no,' and yet he couldn't bring himself to do so. What was wrong with him; he used to easily shake off propositions from girls over lunches or dates, why was this one exceedingly difficult?!

He was displeased with himself for not immediately rejecting the girl, and found a reluctant liberation in seeing Sora amble his direction. He callously pushed past the orange and peach girl to the taller, brooding zombie that wore her uniform humbly.

Damn it, how far had he sunken? Why couldn't he just eat by himself? Why did this nameless first year desire to eat with him? Why the hell did he want to have lunch with that tomboyish sociopath-

Want?

Could Zaizen honestly say he _wanted_ to share Sora's company?

Damn him if he ever said he did; and yet, as her figure loomed closer and closer he didn't feel so uneasy about such a simple idea of eating food with another human being, even if they did happen to have thin feminine fingers, and were wearing a skirt.

He opened his mouth and swallowed his pride to invite himself to lunch with Sora, but was halted by Tooyama appearing at her side.

_Of course, goddammit._

A small breath hitched in him, and instead of swiveling to join Sora, he briskly shoved past her, creating his own path towards Kami knows where.

His brief, unaccustomed intrigue gave way for familiar bitterness.

...

**_Author's Note:_**

_Next week, we shall uproot a bit of Sora's past. Yes._


	14. Burned

_**Disclaimer**_: I, the author, sadly do not own Prince of Tennis at all ever and I never will. I guess I just own the OC character.

_**Flashback:**_

_Could Zaizen honestly say he wanted to share Sora's company?_

_Damn him if he ever said he did; and yet, as her figure loomed closer and closer he didn't feel so uneasy about such a simple idea of eating food with another human being, even if they did happen to have thin feminine fingers, and were wearing a skirt._

_He opened his mouth and swallowed his pride to invite himself to lunch with Sora, but was halted by Tooyama appearing at her side._

_Of course, goddammit._

_A small breath hitched in him, and instead of swiveling to join Sora, he briskly shoved past her, creating his own path towards Kami knows where._

_His brief, unaccustomed intrigue gave way for familiar bitterness._

...

Several days passed after that, and Zaizen was reluctantly finding himself still reeling over his newly acquired perception. It wasn't a dream: those… beings still inhabited the school, and still few of them somehow were able to catch a lingering stare from him.

It pissed him off to no end. It was distracting!

Since when did he pay such thorough attention to the kind of people that inhabited his school? It's not as if they ever mattered before.

While his temper was already beginning to boil, how was it that he could somehow see Sora's mealy dragon skin under the thick layers of her school uniform? They did not wear white, and the material was anything but paper thin, but the image of her liquified shoulder shone vividly within the confines of his mind.

She was a downright sociopath to be causing him this much trouble. Such a female to be this much of a burden, but damn him that he gave in to the whispers that called from the back of his mind.

He had to know, he had to know just how her skin came to have that ugly, disfigured face.

...

It was obvious to his teammates that he was in a foul mood—something more than just a typical Zaizen hissy fit.

And by following the direction their kohai's stare, they immediately realized who his target would be by the end of the day.

Kenya leaned towards his captain and whispered,

"He's going to yell at her again, isn't he?"

Shiraishi almost had the urge to grin,

"I prefer to think of it as 'playful banter.'"

…

She was sitting on a bench, reading a book or something of the sort, though Zaizen frankly did not care as his frustration blinded him from anything other than the thick air between them. He sat down next to her, crossing his arms in the terse evening air.

"How could you be stupid enough to fall asleep while smoking?"

Her jaw immediately tightened, and Zaizen could tell that there was something she was hiding within that locked mouth of hers—something that caused her whole body to tense, and then release.

She ran her leathery hand through her hair with purpose, halting at the end of a few splayed strands. They had the obvious signs of heat damage, explaining the reason why her hair flew up in nearly every direction. She lowered the collar of her shirt a bit to reveal her skin, the same burnt rubber texture he had glanced at during their beach stay.

Up close it was even more alarming than he remembered. The space between them was so thin that he could very well have traced his fingers over the crumpled skin. His eyes subtly traced the burn, and he wondered if it felt as disgusting as it looked. He met her ignited stare, and froze as the rippling of her voice sent waves through him like rings of water.

"I didn't fall asleep."

…

_She stood with a cigarette in her right hand, a lighter in her left._

_She didn't want to see this place; she didn't want to be here. The thing she wanted more than anything in the world was to forget what she saw: forget the image of her father writhing on top of another._

_He and that harlot had been together for ten damn years while still married to her mother, and for ten damn years he acted as if nothing were out of the ordinary._

_She hadn't known, there were no signs._

_Or at least, she didn't see them._

_She wasn't perceptive enough to catch that something was amiss._

_She prayed that a giant tidal wave would drown all of them, but they were nowhere close to the sanctity of their beach house._

_She prayed that the very life of her would be sucked up into the sky, but only her staggered breath was stolen from her._

_She wanted to forget everything, but still she could see the vivid red on her sweaty face, the dampness of her auburn hair. She couldn't forget,_

_So she settled for burning the house to the ground._

_The house in which they consummated their sick, twisted 'love' for each other, the very 'love' that left their family in shambles._

_They were gone at work._

_Her cigarette was lit._

_She took a single puff and let it fall on the rug,_

_And stood._

_Until the wispy tendrils of her cigarette fire locked around her back she stood,_

_And stared at the picture of her parents until their smiles burned away into ash._

…

He sat staring at his fists on his knees, and he suddenly wished he had never confronted Sora about her assumed idiocy of sleeping while smoking. Actually, he began to wish he never even met the girl at all. Her voice broke the tightness of his face.

"I'm not going to pretend like my life was tough, Zaizen-han, because it wasn't."

Zaizen noticed how her voice flat lined: she did not waver in discussing such private things, and she certainly didn't hint at any form of dejection. Her face and voice expressed utter normalcy,

And it infuriated him.

"I had an adequate childhood, and loving parents. It just so happens that I did not take their infidelity well."

_You burned down your goddamned house._

"So that's why you moved to the Kansai region?"

"Yes, my kaa-san and I."

Zaizen was silent for a moment, but he had an entire library of curse words to hurl in her direction. And yet he could feel his old habit of blindly critiquing her give way for an unaccustomed feeling of…

Zaizen cringed, was he feeling _sympathetic_ towards her?

Words were long gone from his memory, and his body flat out refused to make any gesture of comfort. He didn't exactly enjoy touching or talking—especially if said touching or talking included Kiyomizu Sora. She didn't seem to mind his lack of movement; she just reveled in the peaceful silence gifted by the descending sun.

Zaizen almost felt ashamed when he scooted away from her, blatantly uncomfortable with what she revealed to him. It was like she peeled back her skin to expose another human being—one that was not void of basic emotion. Sora must have taken notice of his attempt at creating further distance between them, because she stood and stepped away from him.

From the loom of the clouds came a glittering thread of light: it passed over Sora's collar onto Zaizen's cheek, leaving a small dot of warmth against his face. The clouds slowly drifted their separate ways and let the bright, ochre glow they had been withholding free unto the land. It cascaded around her shoulder, dipping into every crease of the melted portion of her skin, and illuminated Zaizen's pale face. With the sun to her back she was but a shadow in Zaizen's memory,

But damned it, even when her entire body was clouded by black,

He still saw that familiar slate staring straight back at him.

...

**_Author's Note:_**

_Yes yes, that is that.  
_

_Stay tuned, readers!_


	15. Kintaro

_**Disclaimer**_: I, the author, sadly do not own Prince of Tennis at all ever and I never will. I guess I just own the OC character.

_**Flashback:**_

_But damned it, even when her entire body was clouded by black,_

_He still saw that familiar slate staring straight back at him._

...

Though his grades reflected the intelligence of a bucket of rocks, Kintaro was by no means, an idiot.

He was fully aware of the strange electricity that ran through his stomach when in the presence of Kiyomizu Sora, though he was a little unsure why he harbored such a reaction. Surely he wasn't hungry, he always made sure to eat enough breakfast food for two people before he went to school, and he wasn't sick, his immune system was too bright and stubborn to ever let such pathogens take over.

But something was… off about his petite male body whenever he was around her.

Upon meeting her for the first time, it was as if a switch was flicked on: his senses heightened, he could smell the sea on her, and he could pinpoint the individual sun bleached tresses atop her towering head. She was tan to nth degree, and almost as tall as Shiraishi. From his right he could hear Kenya mutter something about her being an, 'amazon woman,' and fidget uncomfortably.

Sugoi! So she was from some tropical island right?! She probably wrestled with dangerous sea life and lived in really cool tree houses!

Granted, Kintaro had now clear knowledge of geography or history, but he was getting far ahead of himself by already outlining Sora's backstory. He watched in anticipation as Shiraishi inquired about her readiness, then she promptly unlatched her skirt-

Not entirely naïve, Kintaro's face flushed, but was encased in Gin's mighty hands while Kenya was hissing, 'hentai' over and over again under his breath. When the gift of sight was presented back to Kintaro, he saw that she had athletic shorts on.

_Sugoi, she changed really fast! It must be her amazon powers!_

Always the bubbling vessel of enthusiasm, Kintaro clenched his hands into happy little fists and grinned as Sora made her way onto the court, shoes discarded.

"She's so cool," Kintaro mused, tugging on Zaizen's shirt. The grumpy tensai swatted him off and scoffed at the girl's poor form, making no effort to hide his disdain as he crudely scrutinized her technique. His garbled words turned to toneless mush as the redhead picked apart—not her form—but her figure.

It was a well-known fact that Kintaro was not aware of the phrase 'sexually aroused,' and if he was, then it was probably a horrid error from a book or misunderstood explanation from his teammates. Regardless of whether or not such vulgarities laid in Kintaro's terminology, he couldn't take his eyes off of her:

Her thick oak legs, the suppressed muscle in her shoulders and back peeking from under her shirt, the long stem of her neck, the smooth, yet leathery quality of her skin, the sharp contrast of her slate eyes and tawny hair.

For once in his life, Kintaro was actually, 'studying,' though his subject was not pages from an old book, but rather the peculiar body of the… thing before them.

That thing being a woman.

Of course, upon first sight of said creature, Kintaro was unaware that she differed from any of them. After all, she looked more like Kenya than she did that one girl who hung around Koshimae all the time. Even with his thickheaded logic, the more his curious eyes grazed her, the tighter his insides twisted. Initially, he chalked it up to drinking day old milk, but after he challenged her to a quick tennis match he realized that it was something entirely different.

Whenever his focus was redirected on tennis, and he was running around the court in his signature flamboyant style, he felt the strange bubbling in his stomach subsiding. If he were anyone else but Kintaro, he would have felt relieve, but since he was not anyone but himself, he just carried on with the match as if he were playing against Gin or Zaizen.

Then she had to go and provoke him.

When he, 'saved' her from his Mountain Storm Smash, he was not intentionally knocking her out of the line of his shot, rather it was for a reasons entirely different, a reason entirely new for Kintaro.

When she nearly returned his shot she had an expression akin to one of unadulterated passion. Her eyes were slanted in determination, her skin wrinkling on her brow and the bridge of her nose, her lips were perfectly pursed over her clenched teeth, and every surfaced muscle fiber had sunk back into her body in satisfaction of her return.

All at once a fire strong enough to burn ten acres of forests had ignited in his core, to which he instantaneously charged at her.

In effort to defend Kintaro's innocence—for the very essence of his male pride was not the area of his body that was reacting to the being in front of him—he merely wanted to praise the girl, he wanted to stare her eye-to-eye, slate to muddy gold. He wanted to see if her silver bullet eyes would stay materialized for just a little longer.

When she handed her racquet to him, it felt like an unspoken gesture of trust, though the racquet she held was just an extra of the tennis team's. For reasons unknown to him, he had the urge to just stand there, even through the rain, even past supper with that certain racquet clutched in his hands. From his stomach the flame engulfed his chest as he watched her walk away, though almost relieved when Shiraishi appeared and invited her for an after practice meal.

She declined, emitting a sort of aura that perturbed him, it was different from when she was playing tennis, and was truly unfitting after her unimaginable display of strength. Without prompt, he bounced off his captain and offered once again.

And then as their eyes met, in a brief connection that could only be married by second-rate music found in those dime-a-dozen romantic comedies, Kintaro watched as the cold shell of her blue-grey irises melted into something far softer.

If metal could suddenly grow as soft as a little kitten's fur, it would have done so right in the ring of Sora's eyes. Even when he blinked, the darkness taunted him with circles of that familiar cloudy blue. It felt as if she had blessed him with the eternal vision of that glint in her eye, a look that was almost like a newly discovered species.

Needless to say, Kintaro was very lucky that his body could not spontaneously combust in what would have been a theatrical display of fireworks and explosions.

With each passing second of her striking gaze, the erratic burning flooding his nervous system had settled into a comfortable warmth in the middle of his chest. With an impish grin, he fell to her right and quickened his pace to match her stride, unaware of the upbeat rhythm that his heartbeat was thumping.

Instinctively, Kintaro smiled again.

...

**_Author's Note:_**

_Sorry it took so long, I was struggling to find what to write after this, because I have a whole other plot for later in the series, but I need something else to happen before then._

_So it's kind of… blegh, I dunno._

_But, I thought I would interject a bit of Kintaro, since this is about him as well._

_Anyway, good day and good night!_


	16. The Tortoise and The Hare

_**Disclaimer**_: I, the author, sadly do not own Prince of Tennis at all ever and I never will. I guess I just own the OC character.

_**Flashback:**_

_With each passing second of her striking gaze, the erratic burning flooding his nervous system had settled into a comfortable warmth in the middle of his chest. With an impish grin, he fell to her right and quickened his pace to match her stride, unaware of the upbeat rhythm that his heartbeat was thumping._

_Instinctively, Kintaro smiled again._

...

"Ki-kiyomizu Sora."

They were floored to say the least.

It had been the first time they heard her stutter; in fact, it was probably the first time her speech had every faltered like that in her entire life!

Shitenhoji's humble zombie, Sora, now melted into an ugly pond of tan and blonde goo before their feet.

And all because of a certain blue-haired Rikkai Dai captain.

…

Granted, it would probably be best to blame Shiraishi, because said taupe-topped captain thought it best to travel to Rikkai Dai high school for the weekend in order to gain a bit of practice with their old rivals.

Their old rivals that swept them at Nationals.

An embarrassing sweep, it truly was, which was not at all surprising, considering their Vice Captain was a towering brute that read more of a mythological giant rather than a middle scholar, not to mention that rambunctious little ball of black seaweed, Kirihara. Next to Seigaku, the beating they received from Rikkai Dai was one of the worst experiences they had all endured.

And now Shiraishi wanted to go back for what would be callously known as "a friendly match."

With their three strongest players being dubbed "The Three Demons," a so called, "friendly match" was entirely laughable.

But there they all were, crammed in Shiraishi's van on the way to Rikkai Dai's home courts.

And of course, since apparently Shiraishi did have a sense of humor, he allowed Sora to tag along.

Rather he politely asked her, she vaguely declined, then found herself sitting shotgun to their captain after Kintaro went on an unintelligible tirade for ten straight minutes, thoroughly explaining why she should join. Whether she was actually listening to his mumblings was entirely up to debate, but regardless of her attention, she was idly nodding her head to Shiraishi's peculiar trance music, as if she were actually enjoying being pressed into the window with a grinning Kintaro stuck between the two of them.

Shiraishi was merely glad that she was not ridiculing his music choice as the rest of the regulars did. He inquired her tastes as well, assuming it would be comprised of chillwave, but recoiled in subdued horror at the painful shrieking emitting from her music player's ear buds, though it was heavily contrasted by the light and airy guitar strums so foreign that it had to be western.

"I never pegged you for a fan of metal _and_ folk, Sora-han."

Sora lifted her vision of the blood red tuft of Kintaro's hair to answer Kenya with a simple raised eyebrow as if questioning the Speed Star's own music tastes. Kenya only scoffed at her silent insult and crossed his arms behind his head, and action that was destined to fail within the limited confines of Shiraishi's car, ultimately elbowing Zaizen in the cheek—which did not instigate the best of reactions from their grumpy tensai.

"Senpai, why are we all crammed in your car? We could have taken two separate vehi- Koharu, stop touching my leg!"

"_Hikaru-ku-u-un…"_

Really, this was all Shiraishi's fault.

As if he suddenly sprouted the genetic wonder of humor, Shirashi furrowed his brown and glanced at Koharu, mumbling innocently,

"Funny, I don't remember inviting Koharu-ku-"

"Senpai, that's _not funny_."

Shiraishi and Kenya struggled with all of their might not to snicker as Zaizen's pointed expression sharpened into a well-oiled dagger. Kenya interrupted the smoke that was threatening to seep from Zaizen's ears by pointing over the top of Kintaro's head at the lavish courts before them.

"We're here!"

…

They were lined up like a link of servants, each with their own personal expression of welcome: Sanada a firm, serious stare, Kirihara an arrogant sideways smirk, Yagyuu of course bowed respectfully, and at the end of their line stood the notorious captain himself, hair curling like the ocean tide with tone to match. His smile was small but accepting, his back arched like a true nobleman.

"Welcome."

The Shitenhoji members bowed in response, though they weren't entirely feeling welcomed by the soft etches of Renji's pen as he studied their grown forms. He raised his head, and though his eyes remained closed, he declared,

"I see you have a new member."

Shiraishi couldn't hold back the slight muscle twitch from Renji's statement, they didn't have a new member, they-

He glanced back Sora, the assumed black sheep of their group and fought the smirk threatening to take his cheeks.

She was wearing a large sweatshirt, one of a gender-neutral beige that heavily contrasted her sun charred skin. Though she had little assets to begin with, the thick cotton of her sweater skillfully hid what little endowment her upper half held. Sora surely would make a truly handsome gentleman if even Renji could not immediately recognize a tangible female before him. As if perfectly timed, the wind fluttered—cool and sweet from the oncoming cold—and tangled Sora's already disheveled mane. Her eyebrows broke their indifferent line and bent ever so slightly, the blue of her eyes hardened as they met Shiraishi's, and in that moment, she had known it too.

"Saa," was all that she offered.

…

"Goro-chan's going to play?"

Kintaro was fumbling with the laces of his shoes, his curious doe eyes locking on said non-Regular who was currently poking and prodding at one of Kenya's extra tennis racquets. She held it up to the Speed Star as a sign of request, to which he nodded and picked out another racquet from his collection, flicking the strings for good measure. Kintaro looked back to his captain, who had his arms crossed expectantly and was staring almost tauntingly at Yukimura and his side of the court.

"Hai, I am wondering how far she take this."

Kintaro scrunched his face up at the statement, as did Zaizen, did they miss something?

"Nani?"

"Senpai, what's that supposed to mean?"

The two younger members glanced around at their superiors: they seemed to be aware of the situation, and they were poised with a mixture of intrigue as well as apprehension, mostly on Gin's part.

"Shiraishi-han, are you sure Sora-han is fine to go up against those two?"

The way he stressed "those two" implied something dark from Renji and Kirihara standing before them, and it didn't sit well with Zaizen and Kintaro. Shiraishi shaped his lips in a subtle smile,

"Don't worry," he started,

"If she's going to lose, she's going to do it with Shitenhoji pride."

Zaizen raised a sharp eyebrow,

"So, she's going to make an idiot of herself?"

…

"Have you figured out this new guy, senpai?"

Though the game had not yet started, Kirihara had confidence in his teammate's abilities, though by the contorted squint in his already clasped shuteyes, Kirihara could sense that such confidence was not the case.

"He's taking off his shoes."

Kirihara watched as Sora indeed took off her shoes and took her place in front of Kenya on the court, racquet ready, eyes as cold as bullets. Renji broke his terse expression with a small noise from the back of his throat.

"He's taking the front, and he's barefoot. Putting himself on the front line like that…"

If Renji were any color of bemused, he sure didn't show it, but the altered tone in his voice hinted something of the sort,

"To be able to return shots from the front line, he needs to have a firm grip on the court, which he expects to do so without shoes. That puts a lot of unnecessary strain on the legs, and can hinder speed as well as strength."

Kirihara tightened the grip on his racquet.

"So either he's going to be staying in one spot for the entire match or he's going to be returning solely with weak lobs and volleys."

"Are you guys ready to start," Marui asked, climbing into the ref's booth. Renji and Kirihara nodded, with Akaya taking his place as true aggressive baseliner near the back. He dribbled the ball a few times before taking the tennis ball between his knuckles, glancing slightly at the team before him.

He paused,

_That new teammember, what's his deal?_

Sora had inched her way towards the back with Kenya, a double defense position.

Honestly they were creating a perfect opportunity for Kirihara to gain the first point by the wide-open space they left before them.

But Kirihara didn't play that way.

Knuckles clenched, he spun the ball in the air, and threw his arm with more force than necessary, ball aimed directly for Sora's feet.

…

Small droplets of blood stained the valley between her feet, and Renji would have been lying if he said he wasn't at least a tad surprised.

There had always been a ninety nine percent chance that people would either flinch of dodge from Kirihara's knuckle serve, the other one percent would at least try to return it.

But Sora neither flinched, nor dodged.

She didn't show the tiniest glimmer of reaction.

She just stood there.

And watched as Kirihara's serve popped her in the bow between her nose and mouth.

It ruptured the vessels in her mouth and nose, a stream of blood gliding from her nostril and lips. She just wiped the color from her face and kicked the ball out from her path, meeting the edgy green of Kirihara opposite her.

As clear as the sky above her she could see with those penetrating silver eyes of her.

"Oi, I guess this must be your new strategy ne, Shiraishi-kun? The 'Tortoise and the Hare' combination?" Marui chuckled at his own chide, his hand holding up his magenta head in interest at the pair. He chuckled quietly, but quailed at the sturdy oak of Sora's voice.

"Out."

Marui paused, as if he had missed something, but looked the small black ring at Sora's feet. She had edged back enough to force the ball out of bounds when Kirihara readied his serve.

She knew she would be the target,

And she had openly tricked him.

Renji tightened his throat.

Her motives and motions were obvious, and of course Kirihara would allow himself to be swept up by her actions, thus forcing the out, but the fact that she did not even attempt to hide herself fascinated the Data Master.

She made no effort to keep herself hidden.

Renji relaxed his jaw, then clenched it again.

He was unsure if such revelations were helpful or harmful.

As he watched Sora take her spot back on the front line, the answer became even more blurred.

...

**_Author's Note:_**

_So this is kind of the slide into the next "arc" where Sora as well as Zaizen start to develop new feelings.  
_

_Sorry for the long update, I feel a little rusty! _

_Please tell me what you think!_


	17. Spectacle

_**Disclaimer**_: I, the author, sadly do not own Prince of Tennis at all ever and I never will. I guess I just own the OC character.

_**Flashback:**_

_She made no effort to keep herself hidden._

_Renji relaxed his jaw, then clenched it again._

_He was unsure if such revelations were helpful or harmful._

_As he watched Sora take her spot back on the front line, the answer became even more blurred._

...

"Mmmnnph!"

Shiraishi was struggling to hold the little spitfire in his arms still with his hand clamped over his mouth to avoid any unwanted attention from Rikkai Dai, but alas, his attempts were fruitless. Niou and Yagyuu were glancing in their general direction, and Sanada made it well known that he disapproved of their loutish behavior with that accustomed rigidity in his eyes. Shiraishi could feel a bead of sweat pool his brow, and sent an unnerving grin down at the struggling boy in his arms.

"Kin-chan, look. She's alright, you'll distract her if you start yelling."

Kintaro didn't cease his squirming, but he did watch as Sora defended her area of the court—amazed how she was able to look indifferent, yet determined all at the same time.

Zaizen, however, scoffed.

"Not that it matters if she gets hurt again."

The older Regulars stilled at his exclamation, even the two Baka twins were short for a humorous comeback to break the tension.

"What do you mean by that, Zaizen-han," Gin asked cautiously.

Zaizen sharply expelled a bit of air through his nose before answering.

"It's all an act to rile them up. Granted, since she is in the same class with Shiraishi-senpai, she is probably _not_ an idiot, but she _is_ doing it to manipulate them."

"And how are you so sure of this Hikaru?"

"Well it's the only logical explanation. She's probably building up her credibility as a target for injury, then before those two can sweep the match, she'll reveal that she's a girl, and they will be so shocked that they either tie or win by a very slim margin."

"And you have no confidence that Kiyomizu-chan and Kenya can actually win this match?"

Zaizen didn't even hesitate to answer, "No."

The Regulars were very open with the dumbfounded expressions on their faces.

"That's just who Kiyomizu-senpai is," he concluded, though the lingering trace of his sentence was clear even without audibility.

_She's a girl._

_Just a senseless, manipulative girl._

Zaizen didn't even flinch when Sora's hand burned red from Kirihara's Snake Shot.

…

She was riddled with scrapes, burns, and scratches: so much so that even Kenya—who was initially impressed by her composure—found his lips jerking downward.

Sora could only indulge in passing glances at the blemishes on her skin, and in almost a sick way it was nostalgic.

Every hit felt akin to the sharp elbows that struck her ribs, every burn felt like being knocked onto that rough track turf, and every scratch was a diluted form of the hundreds of spiked soles that punctured the entirety of her body.

Sora was not disillusioned enough to pretend that it didn't hurt, the nerve endings of her skin was absolutely screaming for mercy, and the muscles in her calf were beginning to tighten—though her Achilles and knee were already compressed so forcefully, that she would not have been shocked if the muscles in said areas decided to explode that very moment. Her breath was far from composed, and the sweater around her shoulders was becoming heavy with perspiration.

She was starting to lose a bit of her stamina, and found it harder to help Kenya cover both sides of the court, not that the Speed Star wasn't perfectly capable of doing so himself.

She wasn't really tuned in to Marui keeping score; it meant little for her, what she was focused on, rather, was the increasingly angular glare in Kirihara's green eyes.

A green so thick that it had to be emerald.

His stare was familiar, as was the scowl on his face. A bitter immaturity that was eating away at the fragile shell of his composure. Oddly, it tickled a spot deep within her stomach.

For a moment, she almost let herself smile.

…

"Oi, break time guys. Meet back on the court in ten minutes."

If Sora were anyone else other than her composed, faceless self, she would have dropped nose first onto the court from sheer exhaustion. Kenya—though just as winded as she was—looked loads better than his teammate. It took the entirety of Sora's pride to keep her arms firmly at her side, and her back erect, though her labored breathing was downright impossible to mask. Her shoulders hunched as she tucked her chin to her collarbone and inhaled as deeply as she could muster.

Though he was right beside her, the mumbled slew of words from Kenya's mouth seemed far off in the distant,

"Ne, you don't look so good, Sora-_kun_."

A flit of humor crossed her lidded eyes before they glazed over with a curious subdued expression that could only be explained by the soft limp in her right leg. She hobbled towards the bench, shoulders squared and chin held straight, before lowering herself on the seat with grace that could only rival that of a tranquilized bull.

Instantaneously she could hear the earnest tone in Shiraishi's voice and the soft tussle of Yuuji trying to tie a ribbon in the thin three inches of her hair.

"Kiyomizu-chan, you should really sit out now."

She took a long sip of her water and swatted the Baka Twins from her head. She only had to swivel her head to reveal one fervently silver eye to send a shiver down the captain's back. Shiraishi didn't even dare mentally parallel her eyes to Fuji's, really he was not in the mood for returning nightmares.

"Just finish it," he sighed.

Upon her retreating figure, Shiraishi couldn't gauge whether his words registered within the Shitenhoji Zombie: she was as stolid and brutish as ever like a careless tide, but the purple around her ankle broke her perfect wave.

"Ne, Shiraishi-kun," the voice of Kenya startled his furrowed brow.

"Hn."

"What did you expect when you allowed her to play?"

For a moment, Zaizen—brooding from the sidelines—seemed genuinely curious.

Shiraishi's face smoothed, though there was a slight tension in his jaw from chewing on the back of his cheeks, and with a lengthy beat he said vaguely,

"Kiyomizu-chan does what she pleases."

Zaizen scoffed.

With that, Chitose cleared his throat.

"She likes a challenge. Rather, it would probably make better sense to say that she likes _to_ challenge."

From the depths of Chitose's cottony black mane, Kintaro popped out with a question mark across his lips. Chitose continued after leaning far back on the bench. His hands were laced behind his head, and his eyes closed against the tepid afternoon light.

"Rikkai Dai is a school with a very specific reputation. She's aware of that, and wants to challenge it."

"What reputation," Kintaro inquired as he pressed his face so hard against the wire that it was a wonder that he didn't phase through it.

"They're a very respectable team, and though characters like Niou-han and Kirihara-han are a bit of a tarnishing stain to their name, they are overall a group of gentlemen. Yagyuu-han and Yukimura-han alone are enough to give them that kind of status. They'd never dare to play against a girl."

From the slight opening between Zaizen's feet, Koharu appeared like a night crawling cockroach.

"As well, Rikkai Dai's girl tennis club is less than respectable. While their measurements are impressive, their tennis skills unfortunately are not."

Zaizen did not hesitate to slam his foot down on the bug beneath him.

"So they don't expect much from girls when it comes to athletics?"

"Based on the background of their other female sports club, I'm assuming not."

Kenya snorted and crossed his arms,

"What a bunch of old men. That kind of logic is so prehistoric; no wonder Sora-han wants to keep playing, she wants to prove them wrong!"

Zaizen was not shy to cock his eyebrow arrogantly. The identical condescension was evident as he spoke,

"As I said, she'll reveal herself as a girl to throw them off."

The pierced tensai would have benefited keeping his mouth shut, as both Koharu and Yuuji ruffled his hair and pinched his ears with playful fingers.

"Ne, Hikaru-kun would just love to see that sight wouldn't he?"

Shiraishi couldn't hold his expression straight as a small snort caught itself in the bridge of his nose. Chitose lazily opened his left eye to peer past Gin and Tooyama at Zaizen, and despite his usual composed demeanor, Shiraishi could have sworn that his tone hinted an almost imperceptible bit of disdain.

"Kiyomizu-han may have exposed the entirety of her tennis, why would she need to reveal anything else?"

Zaizen was fully aware the Chitose did not ask questions meant for answers, and kept quiet.

"She's not one to make a spectacle of herself. Her intention is not to surprise them with her gender: she wants to challenge their mentality along with her own."

Zaizen could have very well laughed in the face of his superior:

Kiyomizu Sora, the nearly six foot tall she-male with skin made of freckled leather and hair as bright as Kenya's. The same girl with a face akin to a young man's and a build to match, the same girl whose only article of feminine clothing was probably her school uniform—surely this girl _wasn't_ looking for attention?

Against his better judgment, Zaizen huffed with suppressed amusement.

...

**_Author's Note:_**

_Conclusion of tennis match shall be next chapter, _

_and things will get good..._

_…Maybe._

_Good night, readers!_


End file.
